Silent Night, Deadly night
by AlessNox
Summary: John has returned from his trip only to find that Mary has been taken hostage by a murderer who killed in a jealous rage. He and Sherlock must save her and then try to unravel their own love triangle before it goes the same way. Finale.(This series is a rewrite of the original Moving series. The complete work can be found here: archiveofourown dot org /series/36036)
1. Silent Night

_**NOTE: For those of you who have read the sequence of stories starting with Moving, this is an alternate ending to the story THE RUNAWAY PACT, where before John can be found, Mary gets abducted by a killer while with Sherlock on a case. This is a preSeason3 Mary. The stories that led up to this are Runaway 1 and Runaway 2. Sorry if this causes anyone confusion. Thanks for reading.**_

Sherlock crawled across the tiles. He traced the footprint on the floor with the tip of his finger and then looked up at the aisle. It had been cleared of people, but their remains were still there, their muddy prints, the scuff marks left behind from their frightened exit. Those crowded steps made as they rushed from the room remained, obscuring the path of the one woman that he sought to find. The woman who he had lived in the same flat with for the better part of a month. The woman who was married to his best friend.

This line of investigation was unlikely to yield a useful result, so he rose to his feet and turned to the policeman at his side. Lestrade was on the phone arguing furiously with someone apparently about the decision of the yard to close down one of London's busiest department stores on Christmas eve.

"Lestrade, could he have escaped the building?"

"There's no way. We had men on all of the exits before we entered, and we have a helicopter scanning the roof. All of the customers were visually scanned before being released from the building."

"Could they have got past your men?"

"With a hostage? No, Sherlock. My men know their jobs. They were provided with a picture of the manager and Mary. Also, someone who knew the manager was there at each of the exits. The store should be cleared by now. I've called in men to do a visual sweep of all of the rooms."

"This man is deceptive, and he has killed two people. He won't be easy to find."

"They are walking in pairs, sweeping each floor. We'll find her. Calm down, Sherlock. We'll find her."

Sherlock clasped his gloved hands into fists. Mary. a madman had taken Mary. He had reached for a child but she had pushed his hand away and got a concussion for her heroism. Yes, it was heroism to trade her life for that of a child. What was it about Watsons that led them to be heroic? Sherlock would rather the murderer had taken the child. Mary's capture introduced so many unwanted emotions.

_Anxiety_ \- For what John will think when he finds out. For what he will feel. And if she dies, how would he take her death? They've barely been married six months. Isn't today their anniversary?

_Shock_ \- That someone who he was arguing with just this morning was snatched from his side. He should have been able to prevent it. John would certainly think that he should have, and he would blame Sherlock.

_Shame_ \- For having thought for a moment that it would be easier for him if she was dead. Even he knew that that thought was more than a little not good. He could never admit to having felt it, but he knew, he knew! that Mary would guess that he felt that way. If they got her back alive, no _when_ they got her back, would she resent him for that stray thought? Would she tell John?

Before he had met John, he had not had such anxieties. He was a man alone. Now he had to face the fact that he had forged a bond, a dependence on having John in his life, and perhaps he had even formed one with Mary.

For the last few days and nights, she had almost never left his side. He had thought of those times as filled with conflict, but to an outside observer, they were full of harmony. Mary Watson shared John's ability to anticipate his needs, passing him a cup of tea before he could ask for it, and making sure to ask questions so that his thoughts continued to flow. They had cooperated in the search for John, Mary taking the lead when his failed, working together to find John. She had cared for him when he was ill, getting his medicine, and making his bed even as she chastised him for trying to steal her husband. They complimented each other so well that Mrs Hudson had suspected that they were having an affair!

Ridiculous! Mrs Hudson had never been the most observant landlady to Sherlock's frequent relief, but there was a grain of truth to this affair. If Sherlock was completely honest with his emotions, then he had to admit that he _liked_ Mrs Watson. She didn't have most of the annoying traits that John's other girlfriends had had. She never objected to John's coming over, day or night. She had supported him when he wanted to move in to the old flat to care for Sherlock when he was injured. And she allowed Sherlock to stay in his flat even though John admitted that they had been involved in a sexual relationship. Sherlock knew very few women who would have agreed to such an arrangement. That is, very few woman who still appeared to have the strength and self-esteem of Mary Watson. She had never backed down from Sherlock Holmes in a fight, and she had done her best to draw back John's sexual interest to great effect if the moans and screams that he had heard emanating from their bedroom was any sign. She had been a formidable opponent, and he had appreciated the challenge that she posed, but that was just a game. This kidnapping was no game. It was life and death.

Candice Singer was dead. Strangled with the cords of a set of Christmas lights. Sherlock wondered if they were plugged in when he did it. Did the lights glow and flicker while she gasped out her last breaths. Maybe after this was over, he could examine the body and see if there were burn marks from the lights. But that was inconsequential. The problem now was finding Mary before the manager lost hope and decided to kill her and himself. Sherlock guessed the odds of such a happening to be greater than fifty percent. Depression was highest at Christmas time, and having just killed his professed love, this man was very likely to be depressed as soon as the adrenaline wore off.

He shook his fists,_ "Sherlock, THINK!"_

Sherlock pulled out his phone and broke into the fire inspection database to pull up the plans of this building. It had two floors above ground, and one beneath. The lower levels were a maze of store rooms. There was a loading dock in the basement. Deliveries came by truck. Half a dozen policemen should be guarding that exit by now.

Most of the store was one continuous floor. Escalators went to the second floor which overhung the first creating a high ceiling in the center with space for the enormous Christmas tree that dominated the glass fronted lobby. There was a row of check out stands, departments in little clumps around the floor. Of course there were departments, this was a department store! And a set of doors that led to the back hall. The staff elevator was across from the hall where the first murder had been committed, the murder of man dressed as Father Christmas. A kindly man, not as old as he looked, who had charmed lovely Candice and thus sewn the seeds of jealousy that had led to this ghastly murder and abduction.

Where were they?

He needed clues.

In the absence of inspiration, Sherlock decided to go back to the scene of the crime. The dressing room where the first murder occurred. Hopefully there he would get a bolt of inspiration, because if he didn't find Mary soon, Sherlock was certain that all that he would be able to give John for Christmas would be her dead body.


	2. All is calm, All is bright

John walked out of the station and listened to the sounds of the city. No other city sounded like London. Yes, other cities had cars, and buses, and crowds of people rushing about in a frenzy to make their Christmas purchases, but there was a crispness to the air here that made it all sound more vibrant and alive. Some magic of acoustics which made the honking of horns blend into the sound of chimes, and the rumble of distant voices rise and fall in time like the sound of a sonnet.

Despite having been away only a few days, John found that he had missed London and its promise of excitement around every corner. A promise that had once faded, but now had returned because Sherlock was back in his life.

Harry walked up to him and handed him a bag of crisps. "This was the only thing that looked good," she said opening her bag before looking out at the passing cars. "So, is it my place again, or have you made your decision at last?"

Just then the phone beeped and Harry pulled it from her pocket. "Great! maybe Jazz can meet us." She stared down at the message with a frown. "I really hate junk messages. Who would send a spam text about Bottecelli?"

"What did you say!" John yelled.

"This text. [**The Madonna, Botticelli nudes] **what does that mean?"

"Let me see that," John said taking the phone from her hand and staring at the message. He dropped the bag of crisps then and ran down the pavement while Harry called from behind.

The Madonna was code for Mary, and Botticelli nudes meant a hostage situation. John ran out into the street standing his ground as a taxi honked to a stop. He jumped inside and gave the driver the address of the department store.

"I know that it's Christmas eve and all," the driver said, "but it's not worth risking your life to buy a present. It's the thought that counts, they say."

"This address, fast as you can. It's important!" John said leaning forward until the cab picked up speed. He sat back in his seat and texted furiously.

**[Its me. Situation]**

The reply came in less than a minute.

**[Manager, killed two employees. Has Mary. SH]**

John's heart nearly stopped in his chest. Mary was in danger, and he was not there.

"Hurry man!" he said. "There's money in it for you."

**[On my way, where do I find you?]**

**[In the thick of it, as always SH]**

The drive took entirely too long, and then they were there. He could see a host of flashing lights. The traffic was being redirected. Ahead,

"This is as close as I can get," The driver said, and John climbed out throwing all the bills that he could reach through the driver's window."

"Thank you, and Merry Christmas!" The driver said with a smile, but John had already forgotten him in hiis dash across the roadway. A helicopter passed by overhead, and John slowed to a walk pulling out the phone.

**[I'm outside.] **

**[Sending someone for you. SH]**

John reached the yellow police tape, and was stopped by an officer. "I'm looking for Inspector Lestrade," he said, but the patrolman just shook his head until a tall, black woman in high heels rushed over.

"It's okay, let him through!" she called, and John ducked under the tape and rushed toward Sergent Donovan. She nodded once at him and then turned leading him back through the sea of policemen and into the building.

The glass door closed out the city sounds, and a silence descended, interrupted by the quiet strains of Christmas music. The jolly music echoed through the store hollowly drawing attention to the absence of people and making the entire place seem eerily haunted to John as he passed the vacant spaces where shoppers had been only a few hours earlier. They walked down the empty aisles past abandoned purchases, and brightly colored toys some of which turned and made sounds as they passed. The Christmas tree loomed over them, a guilded giant making John want to cower and hide beneath the shelter of the clothing racks.

Finally they came to a door. She opened it and John passed into a dimly lit hallway. Light spilled into the corridor from one of the rooms, and John rushed ahead, standing in the doorway and watching Sherlock who stood in the center of a bare room, his hands steepled, his eyes closed in thought.

"John," he said and then opened his eyes glancing over to briefly scan his form before closing his eyes again. The edge of his lip curling up briefly into a smile.

John turned to Lestrade. "What is it?" he said. "What's happened to my wife."

"John, this case is pretty close to you. Perhaps you should stay out of..."

"Bullocks to that!" he yelled. "Tell me now, what's happened to my wife?"

"She's in this building, but we don't know where," Sherlock said.

"Officers are searching, but he's clever. I'm trying to think of where he will go next."

"Mary, is she hurt?" John asked, and Sherlock looked at him with a quick turn of his head. He saw the determination in John's eyes. The steadiness of his hands. Then he remember the man pulling her hair, her head hitting the stage floor. The dazed look on her face as he dragged her away.

"She was fine the last time that we saw her," he said turning his face away. Sherlock could feel the heat of suspicious eyes on him. He knew that he wasn't telling the whole truth.

John patted his coat looking around for the gun that wasn't there. The one that was safely hidden in the tool box under the kitchen counter in his and Mary's flat. John turned to look down the hall. Then he turned back to face Sherlock. "So, Sherlock. Where would he take her?" his voice was calm and low. Too calm. The calm before the storm.

Sherlock clenched his fists and closed his eyes as he traced his path back through the building to where he had last seen Mary being pulled through the door that was then shut in their faces. Sherlock imagined himself on the other side of the door. Where would they go next? They would have tried to get to the roof but hearing footsteps, they would turn to go another way.

Sherlock strode toward the door, and John fell back to let him pass, falling in step a little behind him. Sherlock came to a meeting of corridors and he paused for a second before turning down one and climbing up a stair. He walked up a series of steep steps turning to find himself in a room filled with five low tables, a refrigerator, and an automatic teakettle. The most remarkable thing, however, was a wall of windows that looked down on the store from above. He looked across at the golden angel set atop the giant Christmas tree.

"What is this place?"

"Employee lunch room," Donovan said.

"Why wasn't I told about this? We can see almost the entire floor from here."

"Sherlock," John said, "Mary, where will she be?"

"He'll start somewhere hidden, then he'll go to where he can spy out his route. We should leave this room clear. Have someone watching it remotely. Are there cameras here?"

"That's the first place thing that we checked. He damaged the link to the cameras before we arrived."

"He seems to be one step ahead of us wherever we go," Sherlock said.

"But we have the advantage," Lestrade said. "We have all of the exits blocked. He can't get out."

"But if he knows that he can't escape, what will he do to Mary?" John asked.

Lestrade looked at him, his face stricken, but Sherlock continued to stare out of the windows refusing to meet John's eyes.


	3. Round yon virgin

Mary was crouching inside of a closet. Her mouth and hands were wrapped with Gaffer tape, as a hand pushed down on her shoulders, the fingernails digging into her flesh. The murderous manager stood beside her looking at a small flat mirror that he had placed under the edge of the door. He bent down to look into it, and the light reflected off of it into his eyes. At the sound of heavy footsteps, he pulled the mirror backwards with the tip of his shoe, standing still as the handle of the door was rattled from the outside. He placed a knife against Mary's throat, and she stilled.

After the footsteps receded, he pushed the mirror back out through the crack, waiting before he unlocked the door from the inside and pulled her out.

Mary staggered a bit blinking against the light as he closed the door. She started to fall, but his cruel hands grabbed her and pulled her along in the opposite direction from the searchers. He pulled her down a side passageway and using a key opened the door before dragging her into a darkened room and letting the door fall shut behind her.

At first Mary couldn't see at all, but then her eyes slowly adjusted to the light. It was coming from the other side of a stack of boxes. He pulled her around the boxes and sat her on the floor. From this side, she could see a window that looked down onto the store. Below her, she could see the abandoned escalators moving up and down.

He glanced down at her. "They've already searched these rooms. It will take them quite a while before they think to search them again, if they ever do. While I'll be able to watch them the whole time." He pulled out a chair and sat. "You're probably wondering where we are. This room was originally built to be the manager's office. What better office could there be than one that allowed you to view the floor? From the other side, these windows look like mirrors. They stopped using it as an office because when the lights are on you can see inside. The previous manager didn't like the lack of privacy, so we converted this into a storeroom. He needn't have bothered. No one ever looks up when they are shopping. They never guess that we can see them. Oh the things that I have seen people do when they think that they are hidden from all eyes. People are so stupid. It was here that I first saw them, huddled together behind the curtains kissing when they thought no one could see them.

"You were with that detective, Sherlock Holmes who came to investigate the death. Mrs Watson, he called you. Watson. That's the name of his blogger isn't it? The one who kept saying that he was innocent? Everyone says they were sleeping together. Where does that put you, Mrs Watson? Did you ever find them the way that I found her, wrapped around that _loathsome_ man?

"You must understand then how I feel. How it hurts when someone you love betrays your trust like that. Such dishonesty can only be redeemed by death, don't you think? She deserved it, that teasing whore. She led me on each day with looks and smiles, and then secretly she and he... It makes my skin crawl just to think of it. The way she cried that it wasn't true when I had seen it, seen it with my own eyes!"

The man put his head in his hands and began to sob. Mary took the opportunity to look around her. The room was filled with boxes. It seemed that all sorts of things were just shoved into the room with no sense of order or reason. There was a desk and a chair near the window, and he sat there resting his elbows on the desk while he sobbed.

She needed a plan. A way to contact Sherlock. She thought of using her phone, but it was in her purse, left behind on the stage far below. It was possible that policemen might pass outside the door, but her mouth was taped shut, and her hands, taped tightly behind her back, couldn't reach them. She thought of slipping her wrists under her hips, but she wasn't the slender girl of her youth, and her arms could not slip past her hips. She flexed her hands and relaxed them trying to work the tape loose, but the edges twisted when she pulled rolling so that they seemed to bind her even stronger. She put her knees together and thought of pushing herself to her feet, but then she glanced over at the desk to see the man looking directly at her over his cupped hands.

"Don't try to escape," he said in a voice icy as sleet in winter. "I feel sorry for you, but I won't hesitate to slit your throat if you give me too much trouble."

Mary lowered herself and bowed her head until he looked away again. Combing the store below for signs of what the police planned to do.

"I loved her," he said quietly. "From the moment that she joined the staff, I loved her. I always planned to ask her to come away with me, but I was too shy. I saved my money, worked long hours, all in the hopes of asking her out on a minibreak. I had the tickets purchased. A trip to Italy. A beautiful little villa. We could be alone together. Show our true feeling apart from the prying eyes of the staff, but she said 'no'. He had already corrupted her. Her head had been turned by that burly, tempter, and I knew that I had to stop him. To get rid of him. To _end_ him. You understand don't you? You are in the same situation as me. Did that man tempt away your husband? You can be honest with me. All you have to do is nod."

Mary sat perfectly still.

"I understand, You don't know me yet. You're not ready to spill your sorrows to a stranger, but I understand you. I truly understand you, and I'll help you. The next time that I see that man, that Sherlock Holmes, I will kill him. I will kill him for you. You will see your rival bleed to death before we die."

Mary's eyes widened and she looked out into the store watching the pairs of policemen walking through the aisles searching. He was right, not one of them thought to look up.


	4. Shepherds quake

Ever since Mary had come to Sherlock with the news that John had fled, Sherlock had imagined their reunion. He had imagined, yelling, pleading, passionate kisses. He had even imagined dueling Mary to the death, but he had never imagined what did happen. The way that John simply walked into the room and fell to his side as he always had, asking the right questions, and offering advice in the same steady manner that Sherlock had come to rely on.

In his travels, he had thought of John constantly. For the first time, John and the work had been one, and if he were honest with himself, it had been one of his most challenging cases, because he had never been able to look at John in an objective way.

John always bent his perceptions, like a magnetic field. He focused Sherlock's thoughts but was not the focus himself, so Sherlock rarely really saw him objectively. This was never more apparent than the way he had so easily been left behind by him, wasting days pursuing leads that had become dead ends. He had not found John, John had found him.

True, the demands of his body had made things difficult, with his 'not fully recovered' mind palace, and the intermittent pain. But even with that, he should have been able to find him. The body was just transport after all, and someone with his level of mental discipline should have been able to put aside such petty distractions, just as he was trying his best now to put aside his awareness of John at his side.

Evidence of his trip covered John, from the scuff marks on the edge of his shoe to the tiny bit of orange thread stuck in his buttonhole. Clues in the coffee stain that suggested that he had skipped dinner, the mud and grass stains that showed that he had been kneeling somewhere on the ground. Could it be a graveside? if so, whose? Surely not his own which was in the opposite direction from John's path.

He glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, examining the firmness of his lips which suggested resolve, the steadiness of his hand which suggested preparedness for action, and he knew that he had to perform for this man. He had to be brilliant because John would expect no less.

"Sherlock," John said. "You said that he would take her someplace where he could see what was happening in the store. He's not here, so where else would he go?"

Sherlock walked toward the window, placing a black gloved hand up against the glass as he looked around.

"Where? Where?" He muttered to himself. His eyes scanning up and down, looking at the large tree, and the store aisles, and the check out stands, and the escalators, but his mind was focused elsewhere, on the sound of John's breathing, the shuffle of his feet on the floor as he turned to face Sherlock's back.

What had he been doing? Why had he left? What did he want from Sherlock? Did he still want him anymore?

Mary was in trouble, and Sherlock needed to save her, not just for her own sake, but for John's. He remembered that cafe where John had explained his dreams. Dreams of a life and a family. Dreams that did not involve Sherlock. He had finally got a second chance with John, and he had blown it. He had disappointed him, and he couldn't for the life of him tell if it was because he had pushed John too fast, or had accepted him too slowly.

He closed his eyes needing to blot out the reflection of John in the glass, his blond hair sticking up a bit from where he had run his hands through it in worry. When he opened his eyes again, he saw, across the expanse, a row of mirrors on a bit of slanted ceiling. He pointed, turning back to face Lestrade who had reentered the room after consulting some of his men in the hallway.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked.

"What?"

"Those mirrors. They're the same as this room but on the opposite side. Is there another break room?"

"I don't know what that is, Donovan?"

She consulted a map and then walked out into the hall to talk to one of the staff. She returned a moment later to say, "She says that it's a storage room. It's similar to this room but a bit smaller."

"That's where I would go if I were him." Sherlock said, "I would be able to see where the men were stationed, and plan my escape."

"It's empty, the men have already searched it," Donovan said.

Sherlock deflated, his eyes falling to his feet, then he looked up again, "And Mary called to find that John was not at the hotel, but he did go there after the call. They could have gone to the room after the search. I'm sure that he's there. It would be the best place from which to observe our search, while remaining hidden from view. The only other place besides this room where he could do that is in the control room, but you've told me the security cameras were down."

"If he's in that room, then we should go there," John said, "now! We should go in force and get Mary out."

"It's not that easy," Lestrade said. "This is a hostage situation. If he thinks he's threatened, he could harm Mary before we could even get inside. We've got to take it slowly. First, we need to find a way to confirm where he is. If you're wrong, Sherlock..."

"I'm not wrong. He's either there now, or he soon will be."

"Then we'll go down and assemble a team to storm the place. You two hot heads stay here." Lestrade said looking sternly at both of them before rushing out of the staff room with Donovan on his heels.

Sherlock watched them go, then he realized that he and John were alone in the room. Without turning his head, he glanced over at John. He was biting his lip, lost in thoughts no doubt of how he could save Mary. Then his eyes turned to Sherlock, and he stared. His deep blue eyes pounding at Sherlock's until he had to turn away.

"I should go down with them," John said. "If they are storming the room. I need to be there."

"No," Sherlock said. "You should remain here."

John frowned angrily, "I had enough of that from Lestrade. There is no way that I am going to sit back and do nothing while my wife is in danger."

"That's not why I want you here," Sherlock said as he searched the drawers under the coffee machine. He pulled out a wad of mounting plastic and then looked through the dishes picking up a handled, flat-bottomed, soup mug. He walked to the window, and placed the sticky plastic on the bottom of the mug before pressing the bowl against the window at a little below chest height.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock reached into his breast pocket then and pulled out a ring which he placed on his pinky.

"Sherlock, is that my wife's wedding ring?"

"Yes," he said as he moved the sharp edge of the stone across the glass in a circle scoring a round hole around the soup mug.

"How did you get my wife's wedding ring?"

"I stole it while she was sleeping," Sherlock said before hitting the mug sharply with the side of his fist so that a round piece of glass popped out. It remained stuck to the mug which he lifted back inside the room before bending down and looking out of the hole onto the store below.

"And I say again, Sherlock. What are you doing?"

In answer, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out John's gun. He reached his arm out offering the handle to John. "When we find her, he'll probably hold something up to her head or her throat. He won't be looking out of the window then."

John looked at the hole that Sherlock had made, and nodded once sharply. "There's still the fact that that's a mirror. I won't be able to see inside."

"I'll find a way to make it so that you can see. You just need to be ready for what comes."

"Aren't I always?" John said, the corner of his lip rising into a smile. Sherlock stared. That wasn't a happy smile. That was the one that held knives. The one that meant that if Mary was hurt, the kidnapper was as good as dead. He looked away then and walked toward the door.

"Sherlock," John said. Sherlock stopped then, afraid to look back. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded, and then he rushed out of the door in search of Lestrade.


	5. Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Mary leaned against the boxes as she watched the mad manager pace nervously back and forth in front of the windows. His eyes were tracing the path of the policemen below. He held a crossbow in his hands, and he had a huge knife strapped to his belt.

_'That knife looks top heavy. It's not a throwing knife, so he can't harm me with it as long as he is over there, but the crossbow... it can hit me anywhere in this room. The tip is silver steel. I'm just soft flesh. It would go right through me._

_'Sherlock is here somewhere. I need to give him time. He'll be trying to find me. I only need to wait, try to stay alive, give him time to deduce where he's taken me. Unless, Sherlock doesn't want to find me.' _Mary shivered involuntarily.

The man stopped pacing and turned toward her. "They've stopped searching. They're clearing the floor. Why are they leaving? They haven't found us yet."

Mary stared across the room at the man. He turned toward her and asked, "Why would they leave before they've found us? Answer me!"

Mary raised her left eyebrow and then glanced down at her mouth which was covered with tape. The man put the crossbow down on the table and walked across the room toward her. He pulled her to her feet, and removed the tape from her mouth in one quick stroke. She winced from the pain.

"Now tell me, why would the policemen stop searching?"

Mary's lips were stinging. She wiped them on her left shoulder. The man grabbed her arm and shook her. "Tell me!"

"I don't know," Mary replied. "Maybe they think that we've left the building. They've probably finished the search. They looked everywhere and they didn't find us, so now they think that we're not here."

"They haven't finished the search until they've found us. No, they're planning something. Tell me, what kind of plan would this Sherlock Holmes mount?"

"I don't know!"

He pulled the wicked-looking knife from his holster and placed it under her chin. "You've known this man for a long time. I'm sure that you have an idea of how he thinks by now, so tell me, what is he planning?"

Mary looked at the man out of the corner of her eye. For most people, a knife to their throat would make them fear for their life. It simply made Mary angry, and Mary was rarely angry.

"What on Earth do you think you are doing? You're asking me questions with a knife to my throat. Do you want me to answer, or do you want to kill me? Make up your mind."

The man looked surprised. He lowered the knife a few inches, and stepped back.

Mary took a deep breath. "It would be easier for me to think if you loosened my bonds."

"You'll try to take my knife..."

"How tall are you? Five feet eleven, six feet? You are full head taller than me and much heavier. Do you really expect me to overpower you?"

The man stepped back again, pointing his knife toward her chest. "You're fine the way you are."

"Alright, if that makes you feel safer," she said with a tone of disdain.

_'This man is foolish and impulsive. He has no idea what he's doing. He's like a child. Ah! there's a tack. Maybe I should just treat him like one.' _

Mary wondered what kind of child this man had been. She shrunk him in her mind until she saw the jumpy, high-strung little boy he would have been. He was probably a hyperactive, easily offended, resentful kind of boy who didn't join in with the group. If they went on a trip to the beach, he wouldn't help the others built the sand castle. He would be the one who knocked it down as soon as their back was turned.

He wanted the benefits of friendship, but he was unwilling to give anything in return. He wanted to be accepted by others, but he never had the courage to join in. A past where he resented others for the friendships that he never took the time to form. Coveting the possessions of others, while jealously guarding what he had.

If she had been there in his youth, she would have grabbed the boy's arm and taken him back to look at the castle he had destroyed. She would have made him admit what he'd done, and to get him to see the error of his ways.

Would such a strategy work on an adult, or would attempting it simply get her killed? It was worth taking a chance. She was tired of being afraid.

She looked up at the man and frowned in her most severe teacher face. Then she took another breath and made her voice sound calm. "The woman you liked, what was her name?"

"Her name is Candice. She is the most beautiful..."

"Was."

"What?" the man said.

"Candice _was_ beautiful. She isn't now, because she's dead."

The man stared at her. His arm shook, and she wondered if she had severely miscalculated. She was probably seconds from death.

He lowered the knife to his side and stepped away from her. Then he covered his eyes with his hand and began to cry.

"She didn't have to die. If she'd only told me that she loved me, then I would have let her live. I didn't mean to kill her. If only..."

"But you _did _kill her. You didn't take her on that trip that you'd planned, or give her a beautiful house. You took her life away from her. _You_ did that. You broke the thing that you wanted."

"I wanted.. I wanted her to love me."

"You never listened to what Candice wanted."

"I would have given her everything."

"Except the freedom to choose what she wanted to do with her life. Except the ability to be a real person with her own emotions and her own needs. You didn't want to _give_ her things. You wanted to trade your gifts for her love. Love isn't like that. You can't buy it and you can't sell it.

"Love is something that you give away for free, and when you do, you may find that it comes back to you. But even if it doesn't that's not the point. If you loved her, you would have wanted her to be happy doing what _she_ wanted to do. If you had forced her to do the things that you wanted, you wouldn't be giving her anything, you'd be taking her life away from her. And you did. You took her life away from her, and now she has no life, and you have no love, no future, no nothing."

The man rushed toward her then and she thought that she was about to die. He raised his hand and slapped her on the cheek so hard that she lost balance and fell to the floor. When she looked up he was crying so she continued.

"You are a loveless man. You destroyed the thing that you love, and now you have nothing."

He cried loudly and deeply. He put the knife back into his holster and held his face in both hands. Then he used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes. "What do I do now?"

"You change. You acknowledge what you've done is wrong, and you stop doing it! It's too late for Candice. The problem wasn't in her, the hate is in you. Maybe in the future there will be someone else, but unless you change the same thing will happen again."

"There is no one else. There will be no one else, ever! Candice is my true love. If she's not alive, then perhaps I shouldn't be either." He reached down and pulled the knife back out of his holster.

Mary looked up at the man as she tried to get her feet back under herself. "What are you doing with that knife?" She said as she scooted away backwards across the floor. The man's shadow covered her, and she looked up into his red, tear stained eyes.

"Don't you want to die too? The one that you love loves another. Wouldn't they be happier if you were gone? Candice would have been happier if I was gone. Isn't that what you just said?"

"Um...actually, I think that you need better listening skills," Mary replied as she backed up against a row of boxes knocking one to the floor. It spilled open and a strobe light slid across the floor and bashed up against the wall. When she turned back to face him, his knife was inches from her throat.

Then there was a knock on the door. They both turned their head at the sound, watching as a dark, curly head peeked inside. "Excuse me, I hope that I'm not interrupting anything important. Mind if I come in?" Sherlock said walking into the room. He clasped his hands behind him as he walked slowly inside. His eyes sweeping rapidly over the walls, the window, the fallen boxes, and the pair of them kneeling on the floor.

"Stay back!" the manager cried stretching out his knife toward Sherlock. Mary found herself pulled into his embrace as he climbed to his feet dragging her along with him.

The two men stared at each other across the clear expanse of the floor, then the man put his knife firmly to her throat as he walked them both sideways toward the desk where he had left his crossbow.

Sherlock matched him step for step. The two of them walking in a circle in order to keep the maximum distance between them until she felt herself backing up against the desk, and Sherlock was standing beside the stack of fallen boxes.

The manager grasped her neck with his left elbow and put his knife into his left hand as he reached out for the crossbow with his right.

She tried to pull away from him, but with her wrists bound, she was unable to slip under his arm. He tightened his grip placing the tip of the knife against her neck. Mary leaned her head to the side trying to avoid being cut. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sherlock stepping toward them.

"Stay back!" The manager said, pulling her with him as he backed around the desk so suddenly that he made a small cut on the edge of her throat.

Mary saw the concern on Sherlock's face for a moment before his mask of mild amusement returned. He put his feet together and stood up straight, his hands still clasped behind his back as he stared down a crossbow bolt.

"Stay back!" the manager said.

"I'm not moving," Sherlock replied calmly.

"Stay back or I kill her!"

"I told you clearly that I am not moving. I know that you're an idiot, but are you deaf as well?"

"Why are you here?" The manager yelled. He glanced out of the window and then up at the door which was ajar.

"Why do you think that I'm here? To bargain for the life of Mrs Watson, you moron."

"You, bargain? This is a trick. You have something behind your back."

Sherlock raised his hands dramatically to the side and then turned around slowly. "I have nothing. I came in here alone and with no weapons. I told you. I've come to bargain."

The man sneered and pulled Mary back another step. The crossbow was pointed squarely at Sherlock's chest. "I know the truth. You have no intention of saving her. You want her dead so that you can have her husband. I've read Watson's blog. He idolizes you. Don't tell me you weren't devastated when he married. It was in the tabloids you know. Sherlock Holmes not present at his own blogger's wedding. You aren't fooling anyone. You didn't want him to get married. Don't try to make me believe that you care if she lives or dies."

"It may surprise you, because you appear to be of extremely low intelligence, but not everyone thinks the same way that you do. I do not hate Mary. In fact, I quite like her. She's smart, and kind, and remarkably perceptive. Despite my doubts, she has been good for John. She listens to him prattle on about pointless things that I can't be bothered to worry about, and she brings in an independent income that keeps him from his usual feast or famine lifestyle. She takes care of him in a way that I would call almost menial if I hadn't heard her describe the even more menial things that she does on a daily basis in her care of British infants who are even more helpless and needy than I had ever imagined. She is, in fact, extremely useful, and unlike you, I do not think that useful things should be destroyed out of spite. Don't roll your eyes at me, Mary. I swear you get more like John every day."

The manager looked over at the door then and saw the shadow of police officers in the hallway. A face peered through the open door pointing a gun toward him. He turned toward the door shoving the knife up against Mary's neck. "Clear out or I'll kill her!" he yelled, and then Sherlock turned and yelled as well.

"Imbeciles! I told you to wait. I'm negotiating."

The manager bent down his head and whispered into her ear. "Don't you see, Mary. He was lying. Some people in this world are lucky. They get love while people like you and I get only heartbreak. You're right, it's too late for Candice and me, but it's not too late for you and John. I will give you the happy ending that I couldn't have." He pointed the crossbow at Sherlock's chest.

Mary realized what he was planning to do. She had to stop it, so like the worst of her three year olds, she open her mouth and bit as hard as she could into the man's arm. He screamed thrusting her away so that she fell to the floor.

At the same moment, Sherlock bent down and grabbed the cord of the strobe light, plugging it in. Suddenly the room was bathed in a pulsating light.

**Flash** \- Sherlock was on his feet and rushing toward them.

**Flash** \- The manager sneered in anger as he pointed the crossbow down at her face.

**Flash** \- His hand grabbed the trigger, and Sherlock was too far away, he would pull the lever before Sherlock could reach him. She closed her eyes and then.

_CRASH!_

She opened her eyes to see glass shattering. The entire wall seemed to be falling. The manager began to spin around, his crossbow bolt whizzed over her head to hit a wall as he turned, and Sherlock reached her. He had been running to reach her, not him. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her, ducking his head over hers. His coat flared dramatically as a rain of glass fell down upon them.

Mary was surrounded by Sherlock's body, but she could still feel the cool wind rushing in through the broken window. She heard the manager's voice rasp out the words, "You can both die then!" before the sound of bullets pierced the air. There was a shuffle of feet, and after a long disconcerting moment, someone unplugged the strobe light, and the world righted itself.

She was still in Sherlock's arms. She watched as a pair of feet approached them.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said, "It's over."

Slowly, Sherlock unwound himself. He sat back on his heels, removing his weight from Mary's back. She looked around, and saw that the large window had been shattered. Bits of glass were still falling to the floor and into the room below. Through the open gap, she could see the golden star on the top of the Christmas tree. She sat up and looked at Sherlock.

"You saved me," she said. "It would have been easier for you if I were gone."

"No it wouldn't." Sherlock said in a quiet voice. "You lied to me, Mary. You said that you loved Brad more than John but you don't. You only ever knew one way to love, and that was with your whole heart. You would do anything to make him happy, even give up your life. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Sherlock rose to his feet then. He pulled her up after him and she looked around at the chaos of the room. Policemen were milling about. A group with cameras walked past her, leaning over to snap pictures of something beside the desk. She turned and looked down to see the body of the manager. He was lying on the floor. The crossbow at his side just past his fingertips. There was a hole in his forehead, and his eyes and mouth were open as he stared up into nothing.

She looked at his face, and in her eyes it transformed into the face of that little boy. She could see him with his toy bow lying beside him on the sand. A small red bullet hole piercing the middle of his forehead. She cried out in shock, and then the world went black.


	6. Holy infant so tender and mild

John watched the broken glass fall down to the ground floor below. The flashing of the strobe light made it hard to aim so he blinked twice shutting his left eye and widening his feet to take another shot. He paused at the sound of gunfire, listening as he held his breath, but he heard only silence. The light stopped flashing. John took a step back and lowered his arm.

Sherlock had given him his chance. The strobe light had lit the room brightly enough for him to take the shot, but the shattering glass had absorbed too much of the energy, and his bullet had not hit his mark. The sight of an officer peering through the window gap was enough to make him realize that his own situation was precarious. So John stepped away from the window, turned rapidly and left the room before he could be seen.

He ran down the stairs and turned away at the sound of footsteps. The gun hung heavy in his hand. He stuffed it into the back of his trousers smarting at the heat of the recently fired muzzle against his back. At the sound of voices he stepped into a room and closed the door.

It was a mail room. There were tables with boxes ready to send and objects waiting to be wrapped and packed. The people who had worked here must have left in a hurry, because there were abandoned cups of tea and coffee gone cold.

A box sat half wrapped on a sheet of brown paper. Its white lid propped loosely against its side. John removed its contents, a vase, placing it aside with the unwrapped packages. Then he cut off a bit of bubble wrap from a long roll and wound it around his gun before packing it in the box. He closed the lid, and wrapped the box in paper. Then he addressed it to himself, setting it in the stack with the packages to be delivered. He listened at the door and then left the room. He was halfway down the hall before realizing that he had addressed the package to Baker Street.

John stopped and thought._ 'Is Baker Street my home? When I think of home, I remember the yellow house where I lived with Ma and Da and Harry and Brave, back before the drinking, and the arguing, and the divorce. I've always found it hard to feel truly at home. But I guess it's true. I feel at home at the flat on Baker street, and I have from the day that I moved in after killing a man to save Sherlock's life.'_

He remembered the sound of his parent's arguing. His father telling his mother that he had fallen in love with a man, and his mother throwing a whisky glass against the wall. He had swept it up the next morning before cooking breakfast for Harry and himself as his mother lay passed out on the couch.

John had made his decision as he stood beside his mother's grave. Colonel Heart and the students had reminded him of what he had always chosen before, duty. His father had abandoned it. His sister had ignored it, but he had always remembered his duty. He had chosen a life of responsibility. He honored his country. He saved human lives. He kept his promises.

An individual alone might be weak, but following his duty made John part of something greater. It made him different from his father who had left his mother behind. It made him better. He had promised Mary to stay with her, and he would.

But Mary was in danger now. He started to walk again reaching the door and going out into the main room of the store. He looked up at the shattered window before rushing across to look for Mary and Sherlock. He was almost to the stairs when he heard the ding of an elevator door opening. He turned back to see a trolley being pushed by three medics. It was carrying the body of a blond woman.

_'Oh God! Is Mary dead?'_

John ran toward her. He wasn't thinking of duty or responsibility then. He was praying as hard as he could that she was still alive.

"Mary!" He cried as he pushed past a paramedic to get closed. Mary's eyes were closed, and she had a bandage on her neck. A man stood in front of him blocking his progress.

"Get back..."

"That's my wife!" he yelled.

"And we're getting her medical care. Please let us do our jobs."

John gritted his teeth preparing to down the man with his fists when a hand touched his shoulder from behind. He grabbed it and turned stopping his attack suddenly when he realized that it was Sherlock.

"John!" Sherlock said, his eyes gone soft.

"Sherlock, what happened to Mary?"

"She's fine."

"She doesn't look fine! If that man hurt her then God help me I'll..."

"No need. The manager is already dead. Mary fainted."

"Fainted?"

"Wait until we're outside, John. There's no room to do anything in here."

They followed as Mary was pushed outside through the double glass doors. John caught up with them again as they prepared to load her into the ambulance. He touched her face, and she blinked and looked up at him. "John," she said.

"Mary, are you alright?"

Mary smiled and said, "John, you're back."

"Are you hurt? Tell me what happened."

"I just...everything went black. He's dead isn't he?"

"Yes. Just lie back. They're about to take you to the hospital."

"No, John. I'm fine. Just a little light-headed."

"Mary, love, if you've been hurt, then you should be seen to."

"I'm fine. Let me up. I want to touch you, but I can't seem to move."

"We have to load her now." The medic said, and John hesitated starting to step away.

"John, please. I don't want to spend Christmas in the hospital. Please!" Mary cried.

John looked into her eyes. She was pulling at the restraints. Her golden hair unraveling from the braid curled below her neck. He leaned forward, and undid her restraints.

"You can't do that!" The medic said. "She has to be strapped in so that we can get her loaded on board."

John removed the straps around her legs and helped her sit up. Then he turned to the medic. "Can't you see that there's nothing wrong with this woman?"

"She needs to go to the hospital," The medic replied.

"I'm a doctor. I will make sure that my wife is properly seen to. Look, she's freezing. Where did you put her coat?"

"I...uh..I guess we left it inside."

"Then go inside and get it!" John said in his most intimidating army voice, "and her purse too. Hurry up!"

The medic nodded as he backed away before turning and running into the building. Mary smiled and then shivered. John took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"John, I'm sorry to cause you such trouble. It was embarrassing really, fainting like a school girl. Well, like they say school girls do. I've never fainted before in my life. I don't know why I should start now."

"Don't you?" Sherlock said. John turned to face him. He hadn't noticed that he was there.

John looked up at Sherlock. The flashing red lights from the ambulance cast shadows on his face making it look strange and stern.

"What do you mean, Sherlock," John asked. "Do you know what's wrong with Mary?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What's obvious?" John asked.

"Fainting, fatigue, nausea, mood swings, it's logical considering the way that the two of you have been carrying on for the last month."

"I don't understand," John said.

"I lived with you for three weeks. Mary, when was your last menstrual period?"

"What?" Mary asked.

"I think that you should take a pregnancy test."

John's mouth opened wide in astonishment. "I'm a doctor. How did I not notice this? I should have noticed?"

"_I_ should have noticed," Mary said covering her mouth with her hand.

"You had a lot of things on your mind," Sherlock said with a benevolent smile.

"Oh John, this is wonderful," Mary said. "The best Christmas present ever!"

John held her in his arms and kissed her. Then he turned to smile at Sherlock. Not noticing that the smile on his face was only pinned on.

"Sherlock, I'm going to be a father!" John cried, and he lifted Mary up before lowering her slowly to her feet.

"You should get Mary out of this weather," Sherlock said stepping away to call a taxi just as the medic came back with her coat and purse.

John helped Mary on with her coat and then escorted her over to the taxi, opening the door for her. "Oh my, our statements!" Mary said looking back at the store.

"They can take them later," Sherlock said. "It's Christmas."

John crawled inside and turned back just as Sherlock began to close the door.

"You're coming?" John asked holding the door open.

"No, I'll find my own way home. You get her to bed," Sherlock said. He shut the door firmly then and motioned for the driver to take them away. The taxi pulled off and John turned back staring through the window at Sherlock. He watched as Sherlock tightened his scarf and turned up his coat collar before walking slowly away from the crime scene.


	7. Glories stream

_The droplets of water were shimmering in the dim light of the cave like pieces of broken glass glowing in the last rays of the sun. Mary walked through the white columns of the limestone cave. As she passed them, the walls turned black as coal, and the floor changed to steel plates._

_She passed the window that looked into the break room to see Sherlock and John talking. She watched as Sherlock walked away. John reached after him. Then he sat down in a chair sad and defeated. Mary walked around trying to find the door, but she couldn't. Instead she found a black baby carriage with rusted wheels parked in a pool of poisoned water._

_She peeked through the window to look for John only to see the face of the murderous store manager staring back at her. She cried out._

Mary was in her bed back at the flat. She sat up to find John sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hush, honey. It's alright. It was just a dream."

"John."

"I'm here, love."

"How did I get here?"

"You fell asleep in the taxi. You seemed exhausted. What have you been doing while I was away? Running marathons?"

"No, I was searching for you."

John frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I won't be leaving again."

"Where's Sherlock?"

"He left at the crime scene. Don't you remember? Are you sure that you don't have a concussion."

"Yes, I remember now. It's just, you need to go after Sherlock."

John sat very still, then his face became serious. "Mary, I'm not going anywhere. I was a little confused before, but I understand that you and I have made a commitment to each other and I'm not going to leave you. I'm staying."

Mary stared at his serious face, and then she turned away.

"Mary?"

"When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?"

"When did our life together become a burden to you. When did your love for me end?"

"What do you mean, Mary? I love you." John reached out and held Mary in his arms. He kissed her hair. "Of course I love you. When I saw you unconscious, I was afraid that I had lost you. Please, don't scare me like that again."

Mary stroked his arms softly with her fingers, then she pushed away, opening a space between them.

"I know why you left," Mary said. "It's the same problem you've had since before I've known you."

"What problem is that?"

"You were born in the wrong time."

"What do you mean?"

Mary leaned forward and ran her fingers through his short blond hair. "I imagine you as a Roman soldier fighting for your country, or as the defender of a Greek city state. Then you and Sherlock would be men at arms. Comrades working together. No one would question your loyalty to your friend. No one would expect you to chose between going to battle or having a family."

Mary rose to her feet. "I almost died today. I listened to that man spout his story of hate and I realized what a fool I was. What a fool we all have been. We let things get in the way of what is truly important."

"What is important?" John asked.

Mary lifted her hand and ran it through her hair undoing the braid so that the strands fell free around her shoulders. Then she unzipped her dress and dropped it to the floor. She stared down at him in only her underclothes.

"I'm a woman, John. I want children. I want a family, and I want a husband who loves and desires me."

"I do love you. I do desire you. I want us to have a family. I want children, a dog, everything that we've discussed."

"But that's not all you want."

"I'm not going to leave you. I told you that, Mary."

"I release you. I release you from any promise that you've made to me. You don't have to stay with me. You don't have to love me. You don't have to protect me, or ever see me again. You have no obligations to me at all."

"No, Mary, I don't want that. I want you. I love you. Don't you understand. I'm staying, I've decided to stay."

"It's wrong, John. Those words are wrong."

"What words do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be honest, with me and with yourself."

"I am being honest."

"I had a dream that I was in a cave. My father used to tell me that when you work in the mine, coming in before sunrise, and leaving after sunset, sometimes it felt as if the blue sky was just a myth. He said that it was hard to believe in anything but rock walls and dark sulfur filled pools. So many things were impossible in that world, so strange that you couldn't even imagine them. Things like wildflowers, rainbows, and kites. They don't exist underground.

"But one day he went to a mine where the roof had collapsed years ago, and he walked out of the darkness into a deep well full of trees and mist and butterflies. He said that even in a world of darkness, you could find blue skies if you believed in them."

"I don't understand. I don't know what you mean to say."

"I'm saying that I'm tired of bending myself around society's expectations of me. I'm going to do what I want and damn them all!"

"I still don't understand."

"What I want is to have a child with you. I want to take care of you and support you and to love you, no matter what it is that you want. It would be nice if you loved me back, but I won't have you stay with me out of duty. I won't have you trying to do what's right, because life is too short for nonsense, and I want you to be happy."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me what you truly want. What dream is in your heart, right now? If you could have anything, if there were no limitations, what would you want your life to be? Don't filter it, don't lie to me. Tell me honestly what you want."

John sucked in a breath, and then sighed. "I want to be a father. I want you to be my wife, the mother of my children. I'd like to have children, not just one, but three or four. I want a dog. I want to keep working as a doctor. I want to make a difference, to save lives."

"And...come, John. Tell me the rest of it. Tell me about Sherlock."

"I want to keep working with Sherlock. I'm his partner, and I want to keep working with him and blogging with him as long as...well. I can't imagine ever wanting to stop."

"And..."

"And I might, I'd like. God Mary! I don't know what I want."

"You've never let yourself imagine the possibility that you could have what you wanted."

"I've imagined it." John said rising to his feet. He began to pace. "I had dreams, fantastic ones. But I knew they could never happen. I left because I had to find out what was wrong with me. Why couldn't I be a normal person and love like I was supposed to love? Why did I have to be different?

"I thought that perhaps I desired more sex, but I was offered sex and I didn't want it. I didn't want to waste something so intimate on people I didn't care for. Then I thought that perhaps it was excitement that I craved. That's what Mycroft said all those years ago. I could have gone back to Afghanistan, but my life is here, the people I care about are here. I have everything here that I want."

"Then why are you conflicted?"

"Because I can't have you and Sherlock."

"Who says?"

"What?" John asked turning to stare at her.

"Who says that you can't have both? And God help me, If you say that you're not gay again I will hit you."

"But Mary, we can't carry on like we have been."

"No, we can't. That was ridiculous. Sherlock and I competing to see who could exhaust you more. I was acting like a child. I apologize."

"That's insane anyway. A man can't be loyal to two people."

"Like home and the state? Like his mother and his wife? Like his brother and his child? People are loyal to more than one thing all of the time. I don't know the answer, John. But what I do know is that there is more than one way to live. I spent the last few days arguing with Sherlock and most of the time it seemed like we were arguing on the same side. He loves you, and I love you, and you love me. Shouldn't that be enough for us?"

"But if people should find out...the news, your friends."

"Like I said, John. Life is too short. I'm not going to make myself unhappy just to satisfy other people's opinions of who I should be. I could have died today and our child would have never been born."

John wiped his face with his hand. "I don't know, Mary. I don't know what to do."

"You need to talk to Sherlock. I want you to discover what you really want. I want you to have a life beyond our current imagining. I want blue skies."

Mary kissed John on the cheek and then climbed into bed. "It's Christmas eve, John. I'm going to sleep. I plan to dream of sugar plums. Good Night, John."

"Good Night, Mary."


	8. Love's pure light

It was quite late when Sherlock finally entered the flat at Baker Street. There were no cabs to be found, and he had walked most of the way back on his own before finally giving up and taking the tube. He had turned off his phone. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and it didn't help that the last call was from Mycroft. He wiped his wet feet on the mat and walked slowly up the stairs. Mrs Hudson was gone, probably staying over at Mrs Turner's for the night. He reached the landing and walked inside stretching out his hand to turn on the lights. He hesitated a moment looking across the darkness at John's chair, then he flipped the switch.

The lights showed an empty flat. He turned the light back off again.

John was back with Mary. John was back with Mary for good. It had taken her life being in jeopardy for him to see it. John had made his choice.

Mary was with child, and John would soon have the family that he had always wanted. Why did it take John becoming a father to make Sherlock finally understand? Mary loved John, and John loved Mary. They had started a new life together, and there was no place in that life for Sherlock.

He walked inside and hung up his coat and scarf before sitting down in his chair. John's empty chair stared back at him. He sighed and turned his face away. Perhaps he should move it upstairs. It'd be nice to have an unobstructed view of the kitchen.

A rattling sound at the door made Sherlock sit up. _'John? No, it's probably bloody Mycroft. No need to jump up and turn on the light. He'll have already seen that I had it off. He's already deduced everything. All that's left is to listen to him say 'I told you so.''_

Sherlock slouched down in his chair only to look up at the sound of feet on the steps...of John's feet on the steps.

He turned and watched as John reached the top of the stairs. He walked in through the door and then flipped on the light.

"Waiting for St Nicholas?"

"Worth a try. He's been breaking and entering for centuries and no one's caught him yet. How's Mary?"

"Resting."

"Shouldn't you be with her? She must have missed you. It's been days since you've seen her."

"Mary is the one who told me to come."

Sherlock looked up at John. He had a stain on his pants from cheap tea in a paper cup. Probably spilled on the ride back to London. There was an orange string caught on a button on his coat collar probably from the dancer. His coat was tucked tight and his hair combed back, an unconscious reaction to being around members of the Military and feeling the need for a bit more spit and polish. There was also still a bit of lipstick on his cheek. Pink lipstick. It was Mary's. Sherlock lowered his eyes.

"So why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"To see you, and to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. You can go now."

John lowered himself down beside Sherlock's chair. Sherlock turned to find that they were now eye to eye.

"We were interrupted. I never got to finish that kiss."

Sherlock tried, but he was unable to turn away from John's eyes as he came closer and closer until their lips were touching. Sherlock leaned forward into the kiss as if he were drowning and John were giving him breath.

John's arm wrapped around his neck pulling him in deeper, and Sherlock revelled in the feel of John's tongue circling his until he remembered that this was probably a goodbye kiss. He pulled away taking deep breaths as he replaced his flushed expression with one of calm indifference.

John leaned forward again, but Sherlock rose to his feet. When John stepped toward him he took a step back. "Ah, John, surely you know that my body is merely transport. I was wrong when I said that I could ...give you what you need. I find it too inconvenient and entirely too distasteful. I won't be able to give you sex again, so best you go back to your wife and leave me to my work."

"What work? Do you have a case?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"None of your concern. Now if you will leave me, I have quite a lot of thinking to do."

"As luck would have it, I have a case as well."

"What is that?"

"The mystery of why a man will follow me around England, but then when I finally arrive he doesn't want to talk to me. Why did you follow me Sherlock? What did you want to say?"

"I was employed by your wife, as a matter of fact. My only interest was in solving a puzzle."

"Was it?"

"You quite ruined it by coming back so abruptly, but I did figure out how to contact you. It was quite elementary really. Juvenile in fact. I only had to send a text. It was like standing on a street corner and yelling out _'Ollie Ollie all come free!'_

"I'd hardly call my wife being kidnapped a children's game."

"Perhaps not, but it all turned out well in the end."

"Except that I haven't solved my puzzle yet."

"And what exactly is it that you are trying to solve?"

"I want to know what Sherlock Holmes wants."

"No need to give me a Christmas gift. Mary's already bought me one. It's one of those devices that makes coffee and tea for one. Quite a clever gift that. In one stroke she points out that I'll be drinking my tea alone while she rubs it in that you will be there to make coffee for her in the morning. Mary has quite a devious turn of mind. I only wish that I had thought of it first!"

"So is that what you want? For me to be here in the mornings?"

Sherlock turned to face John who stood much too close, his hands clasped behind his back, a pleasant smile on his face. Sherlock wanted to hold on to his arms and keep John here forever. Instead he walked to the mantle and frowned into the mirror.

"Ridiculous, John. I'm perfectly fine on my own. I don't need you or anyone else to live with me."

"Then I'll see what I can do," John said nodding before turning and walking toward the door. Sherlock looked up in panic. He couldn't keep from calling out his name.

"John!"

John turned back toward him and smiled. "Mary and I will be expecting you for Christmas dinner, and I'll see what I can do about your wish."

"What do you mean, John? What wish."

"The wish that I would move back in with you of course."

"What are you talking about, John. I never said any such thing."

John stood silhouetted in the door way with his back to Sherlock as he said, "You didn't have to."

He stopped then and turned back to face Sherlock as he said, "One thing that I learned when I was away was that it doesn't matter if we have sex or not. It doesn't matter if you insult me or ignore me or praise me. I will always want to spend my days with you. I'll talk to Mary and see what we can do. Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

Sherlock stepped forward three paces "But John, are you saying that you honestly plan to move back in with me? But how?"

"I don't know. Not yet at least, but then again Christmas is the time for miracles."

John smiled and then walked slowly down the stairs. Sherlock stood open-mouthed for a full minute before returning to his chair to think.


	9. Heavenly hosts sing

The light of dawn filtered through the curtains of 221 Baker street on Christmas morning. There was the sound of a key in the lock and the bustling noises of Mrs Hudson entering her flat. A short time later, her slow footsteps could be heard climbing up the stairs. She turned on the light.

"Sherlock! Did you sleep here all night? Your back must be killing you."

"Good morning, Mrs Hudson. Did you have a good time at Mrs Turner's? I suppose so considering the amount of punch you imbibed."

"Now mind your tongue, young man or I'll reconsider giving you my present."

"Smells like lemon. Your special recipe!"

"Yes, I baked a batch of your favorite tea cakes. I would have given them too you earlier, but you didn't come home the other night. Where were you?"

"I was in Portsmouth. Mary Watson and I slept together at a hotel there."

"Oh Sherlock! Have you no shame? That's your best friend's wife."

"I don't know what your objection could be? The room was already paid for, and John wasn't there."

Mrs Hudson shook her head. "Goodness Sherlock! I don't know what to do with you sometimes. I'll just go down and put the tea on. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Hudson."

Sherlock rose to his feet and went to the bathroom to shower. He was dressed and sitting in his chair sipping a cup of cinnamon tea when the door opened and Mary and John entered the flat. Mary was dressed in red with a white hat and gloves. John took off his coat to reveal a bright red jumper decorated with a reindeer. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I see that your taste in jumpers has not improved with the years."

"And a Happy Christmas to you too, Sherlock."

Mary walked around the room with a frown on her face. "Well this room could use some more cheer. Start a fire, will you John. I think I remember some tinsel in a box upstairs. I'll go check on it, shall I?"

"Yes love," he said giving her a peck on the cheek before bending down to start the fire. Sherlock's eyes followed him as he walked around the room. Watching as he arranged the logs, lit the fire, and then rose to his feet brushing the ash off of his trousers. He turned to face Sherlock.

"So, alls well with you and Mary, I see."

"Yes, we had a long talk this morning."

"What about?"

"Oh...this and that," John said with a smile on the edge of his lips.

Mary burst into the room then with a string of lights and some tinsel. "I'll just string these shall I? Add a little Christmas cheer."

Sherlock frowned toward her as she placed the lights on the mantle. She wrapped the lights twice around the skull before reaching down and plugging them into the socket. "There! Looking better already."

Sherlock turned away from her with a sigh. Then he noticed that John stood, hands in pockets, smiling down at him. _What? _he thought as he looked into John's steady gaze. John walked up to his chair and reached out his hand pulling Sherlock to his feet. He didn't release the hand.

"John," Sherlock said.

Mary walked over to them placing her hand on top of theirs and John smiled at her before looking up at Sherlock who felt uncomfortable but he couldn't step back as his chair was behind him. He fidgeted.

John licked his lips and gazed up at Sherlock. "Mary and I talked about it and we've decided, if it's all right, that we are both going to move into Baker Street with you. I don't know when, exactly. We've still got our lease, but this place has always felt like home to me, and you wouldn't have to be alone. That way there would always be someone to take care of you and make sure you eat. Someone to patch you up when you get hurt, and keep you from burning the place down."

"But, there's no room. The baby?"

"This place was one house once. It could be that way again with a little work. We'll use the money that you saved for us, the wedding gift, and see if Mrs Hudson is okay with us renovating 221C. I think that between the four of us we can find a way to get rid of the mold and make it livable again. What do you think?"

Sherlock looked from one face to another and then he pushed past John and began to pace. "But Mary, didn't you say that you needed that money to buy John a practice?"

"But I've got a job now, Sherlock, at Barts."

"What? When?"

"After leaving the base, I called the contact Molly gave me. He was impressed with how much I knew about what was going on with the soldiers, and he told me that I had a job if I wanted it. I'll need to go in after the holidays to meet the board, but it's just a formality. The Veterans clinic is only open part time, and I'd have staff. If I needed to leave for a case, I could get someone to cover me. I don't need to buy a practice. They'll pay me."

Sherlock stared. "But... children, John! There are dangerous chemicals and body parts all over this flat. Mrs Hudson always complains about my playing in the middle of the night. It can't possibly work."

"Babies cry in the middle of the night too," Mary said. "I'm not saying that it won't take some adjusting for all of us, but we can make it work."

"But why would you even want to, Mary? You won! John chose you. Why are you even considering this?"

"Because neither of us want John pulled in two. I'll promise never to force him to chose between us again if you will. I want him whole and happy and himself. Don't you?"

John turned to Mary and held both her hands in his. "Sherlock, do you have the wedding ring?"

Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and pulled it out. He handed it to John who placed it solemnly onto Mary's hand next to her old one. "I promise to always be here for you, Mary. To always love you, and to always care for you as long as we both shall live."

Mary blushed and kissed John softly on the lips. Then John reached an arm out and hugged Sherlock. "This is how it should have been at the wedding," he said. "The three of us in harmony. I've always wanted the two of you to like each other."

"We are your family now, Sherlock," Mary said. "We'll care for you as long as you let us."

Sherlock's face grew serious. He looked down at John as he said. "And I vow to always be there for you. For both of you. No, for all three of you. Always."

John pulled Sherlock down with an arm around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Mary hugged him too and they stood together smiling until Mrs Hudson walked in.

"Oh John, I'm so glad that you're back. Merry Christmas. You all seem happy."

"Mrs Hudson," John said, "Mary and I are moving back to Baker Street. We'd like to rent 221C if that's all right with you."

"The three of you living here together?"

"Yes," Mary said.

Mrs Hudson frowned at them, and then she shrugged her shoulders. "Live and let live, that's what I always say," she said before marching back down the stairs shaking her head.

"So," John said. "Do you have anything around here to eat?"

"Oh John!" Mary cried, "Christmas dinner. I was so busy I never bought anything for it."

"I think that I can solve that problem." Sherlock said pinching his lips together in a devious smile.

. _ . _ .

Later that evening John finished a plate of his favorite Chinese dishes with a smile on his face. Harry held up a glass of champagne. "Let's have a toast to my brother and his crazy, crazy life. To Family!"

"Family!" everyone called out.

The ceiling of Brandywine's was covered in white fairy lights that shone like stars and everyone in their party, as well as the regular customers, were smiling.

Harry walked over and nudged John's shoulder, "So John, how's the gay thing going? The three of you worked it out?"

"Yes we did. And I'm not gay. I really do like women you know. And another thing, bisexuality isn't a myth."

"I know that, John. I only ever said that to irritate you. Happy ...whatever brother. I'm so chuffed for you."

"Thank you. Don't drink too much of that Champagne!"

"You know what John? You are still a self-righteous prick."

"I love you too, Harry."

Harry took big gulp of champagne and then walked away to sit with Jazz. Sherlock came over and took the seat that she had vacated.

The singer stopped and there was a spattering of applause that continued as Brandywine entered the room in a floor length dress of red sequins. She waved and DJ began to play music for the crowd.

Brandywine sashayed over to the table and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "This buffet was a great idea. I may do it every Christmas from now on. Are you sure that you won't let me split the cost with you?"

"Letting us have our meal here is payment enough."

"Well, bless you sweet, and if you ever change your mind about working here, you have my number."

John chuckled. Then he leaned over to whisper to Sherlock. "Are you sure that you can afford this? Looks like word is getting around. I think fifteen more people came in just the last ten minutes."

"Don't worry, John. I stole Mycroft's credit card when we were in his office. It won't be a problem."

Lestrade walked over with a full plate and stood beside them. "Thanks for inviting me, Sherlock. I appreciate it. I thought that I would make it out of the office this year for sure. Nice place this. Funny thing, I've never noticed this place before." He turned and watched as the singer walked past to get into the buffet line. "Wait a sec, is that a man or a woman?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Now sit down before you spill your food. There's a chair over by Molly. She just had a bad break up. She could use the company."

Lestrade nodded and then walked over to sit between Molly and Mrs Hudson. Harry was bouncing excitedly on the dance floor with Jazz. John laughed once before turning to look at Sherlock. He stared back. "Relationships, John. I was never good at them, and this thing between us. I don't even know what it is."

"It's something new, something good," John said.

The music changed then to something slower and sweeter. John rose to his feet and put out a hand.

"What?" Sherlock asked wrinkling his brow.

"Sherlock, would you care to dance?"

Sherlock looked up at him incredulous.

"Come on Sherlock. I know that you love to dance. I found your dancing shoes hidden in the back of your closet."

"I don't dance."

"You do. Remember the Polinsky case? You taught me to tango and you were devastated when he confessed before we could. Come on. I can't think of a better place or time."

Sherlock rose to his feet and took John's hand. He stared down at the man who had changed his life so many times and in so many ways. John led him out onto the dance floor and then took him in his arms. They waltzed together in perfect step around the floor.

Mrs Hudson stared at them with doe eyes and clapped her hands. Mary coaxed Lestrade out for a spin. Then Harry whirled by them and winked.

Outside on the purple lit pavement, snow began to fall. A black car slowly drove up to the door.


	10. PostScript

This series of stories came to me slowly over the course of three years. The Moving story listed on this site is the first fan fiction story that I ever wrote and published on the web, so I left it the way it was. I found, however, that I wasn't completely satisfied with the ending, and so I continued with Underground Thoughts, Damaged, and The Runaway Pact.

Later I revisited the story and felt that I had not done it justice. I started a rewrite from the beginning on _Archive of Our Own_ and made a modified series with the stories Moving, Damaged, Runaway pt 1, and Runaway pt 2 and ending with this story Silent Night Deadly Night. I was trying to resolve and explain the emotions better, but because the work took so long to write, I ended up with errors and inconsistencies in it.

I plan to do an editing pass to fix these problems, but I could use your help to find them. If you noticed an inconsistency from minor to glaring in the series, please leave it in a comment. If you place the word EDIT at the beginning of the post, I will know that it is a detail that needs to be fixed or modified. I need help with spelling and grammar. Britpicking,etc. Don't fear hurting my feelings here. I really want to know what worked and what didn't work. Also, if anyone would like to offer to_ beta_ this series, please contact me by PM.

Please tell me any thoughts that you might have of this series.

I sincerely appreciate all of you for reading my stories.

Thank You.

_AlessNox_


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